Comatose
by ConfirmedBachelor
Summary: Drugs were relative to everything - nothing else mattered. Warning: Slash, eventual smut, male/male relations, drug use, etc, etc.
1. Prologue: White Noise

There was that sound again, teasing, irritating – _what was it? _Somewhere beyond that lonely buzz, tickling the base of the eardrum, kissing the crux of the neck then back up again; senses were still unmanageable. There were more sounds too though, more distant, behind the buzz and faint whispers of blood quickly flowing through possibly strangled veins, the sound of pupils dilating. Did they make a sound? They had to have, in order to be heard, right? Of course, everything made sense. A hum reverberated from somewhere – the base of someone's throat – his own throat perhaps – though he couldn't tell anymore. It was another noise, from somewhere, be it himself or otherwise. Noises were relative, just not then – nothing was relative then, as nothing needed to be. Everything could stay calm for a little while – if only that sound would . . .

It was dusk, the sun still seemed to blind, the hazel colored eyes hidden behind biker goggles, red hair layered over the protective glass, only barely obscuring vision. The temperature was steadily dropping, and soon, perhaps, it would be time for them to continue back to Megaton, where they were headed in the first place, but were sidetracked. Too much had happened in that day for the young wanderer to consider travelling, at least for a while – but that noise; he couldn't help but stop, he felt that they had too. Despite travelling this road before, he hadn't the slightest idea where he was, and was only vaguely sure on how he had gotten there. He had been complaining about a buzzing since they left from the Citadel, out loud, as if he didn't notice that he was speaking rather than thinking. Charon noticed the size of his pupils, but made no comment, at first. Dogmeat whimpered almost every time the young adult mentioned it, but couldn't do much for him but nestle his nose against the back of his lanky thigh.

"Dorrien . . ." Charon spoke up, watching the seemingly paralyzed boy, leaning his back up against a rock, panting softly.

They would likely get attacked by something if they stayed there like that. They were so close to Megaton too. Charon was almost tempted to pick him up and carry him the rest of the way, but that had been attempted before – one of the times when the younger male crippled his leg, and the boy insisted on walking himself. But, with the current situation, the ghoul honestly didn't know if Dorrien would even notice if he had been lifted.

"What?" Was his hoarse reply, eyes darting to the ghoul, his chapped lips slightly parted with something no less than confusion. He couldn't catch his breath either.

He lowered his eyes down to his Pip-boy, deciding finally that it was the source of the noise (either that, or he lifted it to check his stats). He frowned, and Charon watched silently as the boy started twisting knobs, eyes as intent as they could be with his current state. He was about to question what he was doing, but found soon after that he didn't need to. Dogmeat sat, panting softly; the dog seemed tired, but didn't protest with Dorrien's sudden behavior. He had been with Dorrien longer, and either this was normal at some point and time, or Dogmeat knew not to question or pester.

"_This is an automated message from Vault-Tec: Vault 101._"

Dorrien was startled for a moment. Jumping back, and catching himself against the rock behind him. His eyes closed for a moment, his brows knitting with frustration as he let the entirety of the message play, repeating over and over, his head hanging after the fifth time his Pip-boy said "Vault 101". There was a sniffle, and the boy slumped to a seated position, back resting against the cold of the rock, burying his hands in hair, feeling too hot in his leather armor despite the low temperature.

The memories flooded back too easily, and the buzzing subsided for a moment – he realized briefly that he might have fainted. Dorrien had never been one for drugs. He remembered the conversation he had with Doc Hoff when he was leaving Canterbury Commons, asking around for Stimpaks. The man laughed at his "foolishness", and gave him a few free Med-X and a bottle of Buffout, just in case he ever needed it. Dorrien humored the man to ask of its effects and was told that it was a "helper" and made "life easier" when ever it needed to be. Then his father died in front of him—the glass separating, fists banging hard against unbreakable glass, but nothing resounding from his tenuous efforts. He remembered pondering on the strength of the glass before hand, but at the time it seemed irrelevant. The tears, the anger, the shots fired just to for the sake of it – they were all noises too, from what he could remember; different noises that meant completely different things—things that he had briefly forgotten until that very moment. He never fully got a chance to react to the situation, everything happened too fast – and half way through the tunnels toward the Citadel he had injected himself with three Med-X syringes without anyone noticing. At first, he didn't fully feel the affects, and now, he wasn't sure of anything but his own quickly moving thoughts. Everything was too acute, and he felt as though a Nuka-cola truck could run him over and everything would be alright, because nothing more could go wrong, not now, and not for a while. Not until the buzzing stopped.

It was almost comforting, the buzzing; it blocked out everything else, letting him think to himself, letting his thoughts collect and reorganize. He couldn't feel anything; his body was practically numb with a hint of a tingle here and there – and he liked the sound of his blood flowing (if that was what that sound really was, he wasn't sure). The sound of his blood reminded him that he was still living – or existing as he usually called it – wandering the wastes wasn't exactly living much, especially then. His head rolled back until the back of his skull hit the rock behind him, but it didn't hurt – he didn't even really feel it, just the pressure from the collision. It was nice.

Vault 101 started his problems, he was convinced. The Overseer, Amata—he never quite liked her, and then Butch. Absently, Dorrien's teeth gritted in remembrance of that name – his fuzzy senses now acute with a hint of anger; suffice to say he hated him, for a multitude of reasons.

The wanderer never allowed himself to be bothered with Butch's bullying while he lived in the Vault – Dorrien was a smooth talker, and even as a child easily got himself out of harmful situations that Butch more that likely got him into – however, as he got older, things became more difficult. Being a teen in a vault meant that eventually, he'd have to learn about keeping the vault populated as they couldn't leave, as well as for other reasons, and then there were the rumors about himself and Amata. Dorrien's eyes were always somewhere else though, despite what his fellow vault dwellers said – and at a certain point, he didn't mind being teased by Butch because _at least_ he was communicating with him. Then the nose bleed—the door was usually _locked_, he was told to tutor him in working the terminals; he was changing when Dorrien walked in – he didn't bother to knock like he normally did because the knob didn't usually turn. There was blood, and then—the floor was cold.

Butch had been calling him nosebleed long before that incident, but at the point, the nickname just stuck, almost as good as the needle did.

"Shit," Dorrien glanced up after that long moment; Charon was hovering above him with what seemed like a frown adorning his skinless features, Dogmeat had his muzzle against the ginger's throat. His senses slowly came back to normal and he frowned, hanging his head in defeat.

"Are you alright?" Charon asked, a bit surprised with himself for asking.

"I think so. I just . . . can't get up yet. My head is spinning." He coughed after he spoke, wrapping his arms around the dog against him, sharing heat. It was still steadily getting colder.

"_I just hope you're still alive to hear this . . ._"

Charon felt that he owed it to Dorrien to at least attempt to help him – he had bought his contract after all, but he wasn't exactly sure what to do for him. He had just lost his father hours prior, and in the amount of time he had known the young male, he knew enough about his time in the vault and the situation that caused him to leave. He placed a hand to the somber boy's hair, smoothing it down, and the red head looked up with a withering smile, his eyes glossy with something that he wouldn't admit to be tears.

"Tomorrow, we're going to Vault 101. Hopefully we get paid for helping," his voice cracked a bit, and he cleared his voice before daring to continue, "because I'm sure as hell not leaving empty handed."

And he wasn't.


	2. Parasympathetic

What day was it again – two days since the last time Dorrien pondered on the date? Probably – or it was three days past? The boy didn't feel like checking his Pip-boy, or even lifting his arm to make sure that it was still there. The weight of it had become nonexistent a few days after he received it at his tenth birthday party – so honestly he was never really sure if it was there without looking. He glanced down at it after a moment, and pouted out his lower lip. He remembered his father saying that eventually he wouldn't notice it; James was a good man, such a good man. He sat up in his bed, running a hand over his messy locks of hair that clung to his skin due to sweat, shaking away his somber thoughts, his biker goggles hanging limply at his neck; his armor a pile on the floor nearly under the desk. He didn't remember ever taking it off.

"Sir, you're awake!"

Dorrien glanced up with hazy hazel eyes; there was a light that bounced off of Wadsworth's metal, blinding the red head for a moment until his eyes adjusted to the sharpened edges of light that stabbed his pupils – hurting the cones in his retinas. He felt like he had just been hit by a truck. It wouldn't be the first time though, and just like before, he'd have to push through it. Either that or turn over in his bed and just not try.

"Yeah, I'm awake. You don't usually have this enthusiasm when I wake up," the wanderer hinted with a scratchy, sleep heavy voice; an eye brow rose accusingly, "what's different today?"

The Mr. Handy was silent, but of course, with him being a robot, Dorrien couldn't read an expression. Wadsworth was perhaps conjuring up some logical response to what Dorrien had said as there was no real emotional attachment from what the teen had noticed in his time in the Megaton house. He floated – otherwise motionless – for a long moment, before he responded.

"The other sir asked me to check on you through out the night." He said finally, then turned and left the room, not giving much else for Dorrien to think on, which was a good thing as he wasn't all the fond of thinking.

With a groan, the boy placed his feet flat against the floor, trying to find balance, and then he stood, stretching his hands above his head, his back giving a satisfied crack. A pain began to serpentine up his core and through his shoulders – diminishing to a tingle once it reached his thin fingers. He shook the feeling from his hands and sighed. Faintly, he could smell the musk of a few days without any form of bathing (even though he did fall into a little irradiated pond days prior), but he could smell that same odor off of most people that he encountered. He figured that after he went to Vault 101, he'd go to Tenpenny tower and take a bath in one of the rooms. Roy wouldn't mind – he never did. Bending over and examining his armor in his hands, he sighed inaudibly, slipping the tight armor over his form, fastening all the little clasps, pulling his boots up to his knees. The goggles were fitted over his eyes again, and he brushed his bangs out of his eyes, just to have them fall again.

He didn't feel like going back – he repeated it multiple times as he descended the stairs; Dogmeat met him at the bottom and nestled against his thigh, barking with what seemed like complaisance toward the groggy teen. Charon was leaning his back up against the door, eying the boy until they caught gaze, then he looked away. Charon always did this: he guarded the door while Dorrien slept to make sure that no one would sneak in. Of course the red head tried to assure him that there was no point as the door was locked, but there was no convincing the tall ghoul. Eventually Dorrien just gave up.

Dorrien had a sort of attachment to the ghoul since he bought his contract – actually, it was since he protected him from enclave soldiers when his plasma rifle ran out of ammunition and his arm was motionless from being crippled. Honestly, Dorrien would have killed Ahzrukhal if Charon didn't get to him first – but that was neither here nor there. The man was dead, and that was the end of it – his corpse lay rotting on the bar floor. It did bother the teen that Charon was so 'obedient,' other than a few instances. Dorrien was curious to know how he'd act if the contract didn't exist.

"Charon," Dorrien said as he petted over Dogmeat's head, brushing his gloved fingers over the dog's ears.

"Yes?"

Dorrien stood up straight and walked over almost hesitantly, a little wobble in his step, stopping a foot or so in front of the ghoul. Dogmeat followed behind him, panting softly.

"How did I get here last night?" Honestly, Dorrien didn't remember. He remembered his little break down because of the drugs, and how cold it had gotten – his skin chilled briefly in response, goosebumps littering his covered arms – but nothing after that, nothing until waking up that morning.

"I carried you." Charon answered succinctly.

"I didn't ask you too, and you know I hate being carried." Dorrien didn't seem angry though, just curious, his lips still parted ever so slightly, as if he was ready to speak again.

"I felt obligated to; you hold my contract, and I'm supposed to protect you." Charon crossed his arms, sounding irritated with the questioning.

This was a habitual sort of discussion between the two though. Charon would do something, Dorrien would question it, and when the ghoul would answer, usually mentioning the contract, the red head would question that to, or offer a strange sort of rebuttal that left Charon wondering until he ended up angry or irritated – grumbling away while Dorrien skipped to a beat that played softly in the back of his head, massaging his aching thoughts.

"What if there was no contract and you were with me by your own will? Would you have brought me here then?" Dorrien walked away now, and into the little section of the house that held the refrigerator. Charon could hear him rummaging through the inside. Dogmeat stayed where he was, staring at the ghoul as if waiting for an answer too. There wasn't one, other than an audible scoff.

The boy returned with a little box of Sugar Bombs, munching away, searching around for something that his eyes couldn't find. He patted his hip curiously, until Dogmeat bolted up and ran up the stairs, returning shortly with Dorrien's plasma rifle between his jaws. He managed to ignore the slobber long enough to pat the dog's head and return the weapon to its holster.

"Are we ready?" He asked, mostly trying to remind himself of anything else they needed – the bag with the supplies and extra ammunition (as well as extra weapons, but he didn't remember that part) was resting by the door, about a foot from Charon.

"This was all we had with us in the first place." Charon stated as he lifted the bag and slung it over his shoulder, opening the door and moving to step out.

He must not have locked it after he brought him back – Dorrien figured, and he shrugged his shoulders, following behind the ghoul without much worry. He knew where they were heading now, but the anxiety of it hadn't yet set in – and he hoped that it wouldn't.

He wasn't all that worried about helping them; honestly, he just wanted to see how things had changed since he had left. Already, he knew that the Overseer were a power hungry _pompous ass_, but that was beside the point. As they walked down the staircase, Dorrien brushed his fingers through his hair, kicking a tin can away and down the stairs with him, liking the sound that it emitted – finding a menial pleasure in it. It was discarded soon after, and as they neared closer to the gate, Dorrien stopped as the anxiety set in.

"Charon," he nearly squeaked, biting down on his lip, his hand reaching for the ghoul.

Charon looked over at him silently then placed a hand to his shoulder, squeezing a little. The boy tensed for a moment, then sighed and nodded in a mutual, yet wordless understanding, and offered a little smile before he began walking again.

"Shit, shit, _shit_!" Dorrien jumped back, left arm out stretched, the plasma rifle shaky in his grip, narrowly dodging the stinger of a large radscorpion.

They had just gotten past the Megaton sign when they came out, three scorpions, one rivaling the size of a car, and the rest averagely frightening, concerning themselves with Dorrien's companions. Of course, and he was the one afraid of them; deathly afraid. He shrieked, firing a missed shot of plasma, hitting the ground and forming a pile of glowing green sludge that caught the red head's attention for a mere moment until he was forced to back-pedal again as a pair of claws tried to snap off his ankles.

"Fall back!" He heard the shout, not reacting too quickly but taking off in a run when he noticed the frag grenade flying past his eyes – the mini explosion seconds later.

Not to Dorrien's surprise, the radscorpion still lived, but moved slower, its legs crippled. Taking this to his advantage, he aimed, closing his right eye, calming his intensified breathing, hand hands still shaking as the creature inched closer. His fingers slipped over the trigger, and as the plasma flew, enveloping the radscorpion, making it a steaming pile of neon goo, the teen sighed aloud, lowering his arm to his side and holstering his weapon again.

"Never again, I mean it this time." He moaned, walking over hesitantly, as if there was a chance of the goo pile attacking him – the scorpion coming back from beyond the grave, as it were.

He prodded it with his boot, and then shook his head, glancing over at his companions who were, as always, calm and collected after these kinds of altercations. Dorrien, not understanding how, shook his head again and continued walking, his breathing heavily. He wanted a Med-X, his veins pulsed delightedly at the thought, and he patted the little pouch that rested against his chest, attached to the belt that hugged around his shoulder and torso. He opened it as he was walking, avoiding the stimpaks and grabbing one of the five Med-X that laid in waiting. Purring out a little pleased sound, wanting to calm his incoming withdrawal symptoms, he lifted the syringe to the light and then paused in his step for a moment, pushing up the sleeve of his armor as much as he could then he found a vein, tapping the tip of the needle with his finger nail before he pressed it to his skin, hissing slightly at the sting of the insertion, the spicy feeling of the liquid mixing with his quick moving blood – his eyes dilating in response.

He threw the empty syringe to the side and pushed his sleeve back down, proceeding to fold his arms behind his head, his lips curling into a small smile. Charon mumbled something behind him, but Dorrien didn't hear it, or rather, didn't want to here it. His senses were clouding with a delicious euphoria, and he wasn't going to let anything jeopardize that.

Familiar – or vaguely familiar given Dorrien's faintly buzzing senses – ground came into view, his eyes perking up with something close to fondness, even despite the dilation of his eyes. He walked quickly now, his companions close behind and when he reached the vault door, his heart skipped a beat and he exhaled a long breath, closing his eyes to calm himself again. His hand outstretched and he pushed the door open with a sudden confidence that diminished again with each step he took – the darkness of the walk towards the entrance door coddled his fear of what he'd see inside – and he hoped to whomever the creator of this wasteland was that no one would mention his father.

"I can't believe I can't here to settle a petty dispute, screw this." And despite his words, Dorrien continued to wander around the Vault, looking over everything. He was still on the lower level.

When he first got in, he was stopped by Officer Gomez, of course, and had to speak on his father, of course, then he was cursed at by old vault residents that probably thought he was a piece of shit - _of course_. He growled out an irritated sound, looting some things here and there just to make up for how annoyed he was – though it probably wasn't stealing because he used to live there, but he didn't care. Apparently they didn't like him from the beginning either – he shot a radroach in the face at the thought, then stepped on it for emphasize, squishing it's insides and wiping the bottom of his boot off on the side of a table.

"You should have never come back," he heard a yell from behind him and he turned back, sneering at Wally Mack, his face feral and his hand reaching for his holstered plasma rifle. Charon grabbed his hand before he had the chance to do something that he probably wouldn't regret, and dragged him towards the stairs, the teen growling out a sound that sent Wally backpedaling, his face pallid.

It might have been how dilated his pupils were – he took another Med-X after he spoke to a first displeased vault dweller. He was still conscious however, and keenly aware of his surroundings, but his emotions were askew and reeling to the point where if another person spoke to him about how he shouldn't have come back he would shoot without hesitation and perhaps piss on the corpse just for the feel of it.

He climbed the steps with heavy legs, his eyes unfocused as he thought over what he could have just done. He never liked Wally, but killing him was completely unnecessary – he was honestly surprised with how they were talking to him, and that the people that he had run into so far hadn't killed him. It wouldn't have been surprising, and it apparently would have fixed a lot. Maybe, he should just lea—shit . . .

It all seemed to happen really fast. Dorrien's heart constricted, despite the fact that there was a knife to his neck, and despite the fact that there was a gun pointed square towards the exposed temple of the male in front of him, ready to fire and rid the world of the existence of his grease slicked hair. He panted out a short breath in response to the tension, his eyes wide and bright for a brief moment, almost as wide as Butch's. He'd never admit that he was surprised about the return of the wanderer, and Dorrien was alright with that – he saw the expression, and knew the truth in it.

"Oh my god . . ." Dorrien whispered to himself, barely audible, watching the arm that lowered the knife from his neck – he could feel a trail of sweat running down his Adam's apple, tickling where the knife was – letting him pretend that the warmth of the near contact was still lingering there, brushing his slightly tanned skin.

Butch was more concerned with the rifle that Charon was pointing at him, his eyes narrowed in the ghoul's direction, but Dorrien had forgotten how to really form words, or that Charon was there. Dogmeat growled steadily, baring his teeth, ready to gnaw at Butch's leg. He blinked slowly, and then at realizing the situation he placed a hand against Charon's wrist, lowering the gun away.

"I know him, it's okay . . ." He raised his voice a little, but not too much, his eyes still resting on the male before him.

"Is this your goon? Damn, and I thought you wouldn't be coming back either." Butch groaned, but held a smirk that comforted Dorrien, a least a little – he wasn't like the others.

"He's not a goon, Butch," Dorrien narrowed his eyes, pushing back his feelings momentarily, "I remember that being your job – next to hair dresser. Where's Amata?"

Butch sneered, but sighed and shook his head, pointing a thumb behind himself with lack of interest, "Back there; she's been whinin' about how she 'knew you'd come back' and how she 'knew you weren't dead'. I wanted to tell her you were dead just to shut her up."

"She mostly right," the red head placed a hand to his hip, not ready to walk away yet.

"What do you mean by that?" Butch raised a brow, and Dorrien fought the urge to twist his finger around that lock of hair that dangled delicately at his forehead – he remembered watching Butch perfect it when he was supposed to be paying attention with studies.

At that thought, he realized that this could truly end up bad if he didn't fix this situation in the Vault and leave. He thought, honestly, that after being out of the vault for so long that he wouldn't have any sort of feeling for Butch, other than disdain, but this—this rivaled how much he loved Grognak's loincloth (and at times disliked, for obvious reasons). He wanted to sigh aloud, but decided against it until he was at some place more fitting for such a display. He'd go to Rivet City after this and drink himself silly, then pass out in his hotel room.

"It doesn't matter. You're siding with Amata, right? What do you think I should do about this?" Dorrien was honestly curious about his opinion. Obviously, he'd lived in the vault longer than the wanderer.

"I want the door open. Actually, I want to leave – this place is seriously—"

"You want to leave," Dorrien repeated, blinking slowly as if he had misheard him, "and what do you plan on doing when you get out there, Butchie? There are creatures out there bigger than radroaches."

Butch shuttered at the name and perhaps the mention of radroaches as well, both bothered him equally. He narrowed his eyes, challengingly and stepped closer, invading Dorrien's personal space, taller than him by a few inches.

"Start another gang; of course," of course, "maybe I'll let you in."

"I thought I was already a Tunnel Snake." He used the jacket as a pillow sometimes – it was in the bag on Charon's back, waiting for use. It smelled like Butch – and honestly, it took Dorrien forever to convince himself that liking the way Butch smelled wasn't weird.

"That was the old Tunnel Snakes, Nosebleed, but you might be able to join again," he winked and Dorrien felt the heat of a blush fill his cheeks. He shook his head and stepped around him, giving him a passing glance.

This wasn't working out like he planned. Butch turned to follow his eyes after him when he walked into the room where Amata was – he heard her squeal of delight at the sight of him, imaged her throwing her arms around him for a hug, one that he'd probably reject as he always seemed to do. He'd ask for all the logical points to what was happening, ask opinions – disagree with all of them – and get the job done tentatively. He shoved his hands into his pockets, careful with his toothpick as he didn't want to cut his pants. Time had changed him though, Butch could see it – he offered his first rebuttal without a hint of thought; he used to stammer when ever Butch spoke to him, and his eyes were sharp though dilated to a degree, but Butch found that normal in some strange sort of way. He shook his head and returned to his about face position, watching out for anyone that could possible sneak up the stairs, for any sort of reason. He wasn't expecting this, and it was yet to be seen if he was going to return as a blessing.

"I'll talk to your dad, Amata," Dorrien sighed, rubbing his cheeks with his hands, and shaking his head as felt his Med-X wearing off, again. He wouldn't worry about it until he got to leave though.

He turned from the room, and pulled his goggles down to hang around his neck, reveling in the smell of mostly fresh air. It was better than inhaling pollution and dusk all hours of the day – though it smelled kind of nice around Rivet City, the irradiated water added a sort of class to the boat, or maybe it was just the drugs talking again. Probably the drugs; they had better insight on things that really didn't matter.

"So what's your plan?" Butch asked as Dorrien went to walk past him; the lanky form stopped and shrugged his thin shoulders, turning to face him.

"I'm going to talk to him, and if he doesn't listen, I'll leave. Simple; if I can't handle it, it isn't really my problem. You guys will be fine without me, you were before."

It was never as simple as Dorrien wanted to make it sound, Butch knew that, but he had a gift with words, the Tunnel Snake wouldn't deny that. He shook his head, taking a step closer.

"That's all well and good, but it's _boring_. You wanna know what I would do?" Butch asked, wrapping an arm around the red-head's shoulders. He briefly noted that he needed a haircut. His bangs were too long, and his hair was covered in dirt and dust.

"Humor me," Dorrien sighed, leaning against Butch in a way that he thought wasn't noticeable. Butch didn't mention it, so he assumed it was fine. He could hear Charon mumbling something about it though.

"There's a terminal in the sub-basement that'll flush the water chip. If it's not safe in the vault, we all have to leave."

"Butch, I swear you're such a dumbass sometimes," he mumbled fondly, then pushed his arm away, "I'll consider if talking doesn't work. Maybe."

"You're still boring, Nosebleed." Butch called after Dorrien as he descended the stairs, and the red head waved his hand in response, though he smiled all the way to the Overseer's room, a feathery feeling playing at his stomach.

"I swear you don't get it do you . . . you'll be fucking _inbreeding_ after a while. The Vault only has a few more years before you have kids with mutations worse than a Super Mutant, and no one left to run anything. Think about it, Overseer, you're really ruining what you took so long to fully control."

He lingered thoughtfully on Dorrien's words before sighing aloud and throwing his hands up in defeat, turning away for a moment. Dorrien remembered him doing something similar one time when he talked to him.

"Y-you're right, the Vault only has t—Dorrien?" The teen had already started walking away.

"What? This is all I came back to do. I'm done here."

"Just, stay long enough for me to tell Amata, she'll probably want to thank you."

Dorrien groaned, almost wanting to stomp his foot in protest but he followed the Overseer anyway, shoving his hands in his pockets in his armor, glancing back at Charon and Dogmeat then shaking his head. He should just leave, he really should. Amata gave him a hug as thanks, especially once she found out that she would be the new Overseer, but then things just got worse. Not that Dorrien really minded being banished – he never planned on coming back again, but, of course that meant that he couldn't visit his room anymore or anything else. Other than that, there was nothing he held ties to. Butch was leaving. He sighed, glaring his hazel eyes in Amata's general direction, then he walked to where his room was before, glancing inside. He'd kill her if that wasn't morally wrong – not that he was always the good guy, actually, he wasn't exactly 'good', ever. He stole more than most raiders.

"Fuck the Vault," he mumbled to himself, tracing his fingers over the picture frame that held that infamous quote, his gloves denying him the feeling of the glass. If the situation was different he would have cried a little.

"Why do you think I wanna leave?" Dorrien glanced over at Butch, leaning against the opening to the room.

"Because you're bored; you don't get it, Butch, you're safe in here. Why leave now? Amata's Overseer," Dorrien stood and placed the frame in the bag on Charon's back, then stopped in front of Butch, a few feet as distance, "everything will be better now. I have no options, you should savor yours."

He sounded too somber, and he wanted to take it back, but it was a little too later. Butch was never really good with anyone else's emotions, including his own, and Dorrien was afraid he'd walk away for the reason. He didn't though, he frowned for a flash of a moment.

"I don't want to live this 'safe' life. We do the same thing in this place—"

"And now you don't have to, you can come and go as you want."

"And that means I can choose to go and not come back." Butch crossed his arms over his chest, and Dorrien shook his head and reached into the pouch that held his stimpaks and Med-X, pulling out one of each, and a few bottle caps, lifting Butch's hand, and placing the items within the Tunnel Snake's grip, lingering his hand there for a moment.

"Yeah, fine. Don't get killed, Butchie," though in his heart he felt that he probably would.

"Like I'd get killed," he glanced at what was in his hand, pocketing it quickly. It seemed as though he didn't know what it was for.

Dorrien sighed as he walked down the stairs again, giving one passing look to the interior of the vault before sighing heavily. He heard the remarks from the people inside the vault, urging him to leave as quickly as possible, and never come back – and he swore to himself that he wouldn't, even if Amata changed her mind or even if there was another message sent to his pipboy. The outside air felt more welcoming than the first time he did this walk, and he smiled at the feeling of it, even as the vault door closed behind him.

"We're going to walk to Rivet City, the long way."

"As you wish," Charon's laconic reply bothered Dorrien.

"Unless you don't want to," Dorrien hinted, leaning down to hug Dogmeat who licked at his face, probably noticing the frown that soon overcame his features moments after he stepped outside, as the good feeling wore off.

"I'm following you, you have my contract." Charon glanced over at Dorrien, without saying much else. The boy sighed in defeat, not wanting to try this anymore – he wasn't in the mood to argue.

"Ah, fine. I need a drink, or something; get away from this," he motioned a hand that wasn't occupied with his dog towards Vault 101. Charon nodded, seeming to understand the meaning with those words. Dorrien had never really seen him drink before though.

The walk was painful, only because Dorrien chose to take the long way, but that was to be expected. He chose not to take any Med-X on the way either as he didn't know the effects alcohol would add to the drugs. He smoked half the way there; however, blowing smoke rings in the air nonchalantly as he shot plasma at bloatflies, chuckling deeply when then fell lifelessly to the ground, rolling a few feet away. Charon and Dogmeat didn't bother to help; they didn't attack bloatflies in normal cases as they weren't much of a threat. It was getting steadily getting darker – dusk was soon approaching. Another bloatfly fell, less than graciously as it disintegrated into green sludge, and Dorrien sighed.

As they climbed the stairs that lead to the platform walk on to the boat, Dorrien glanced over at Charon again – he only looked back for a moment, but didn't say anything. The teen just shook his head, deciding that he'd force conversation later. He still had that attachment to Charon, but he did feel lonely every so often. Other than Dogmeat's panting, barking, and the reverberation of footsteps, it was rather quiet as they traveled. Charon only really spoke when he was alerting Dorrien that they weren't safe. It made Dorrien curious though. Silence sometimes meant that the person was just thinking really hard – or so he had been told – so he wondered if Charon was just thinking a lot. He couldn't act on his desires anymore because of his contract, but then again, he wondered what exactly those desires would be. If he were to ask, Charon wouldn't answer, that was obvious.

They walked to the Muddy Rudder, Dorrien sitting on one of the stools and waiting patiently for Belle to finish talking to Brock. Charon stood a foot or two behind the red head, his eyes focused on nothing particular, but his arms were crossed.

"Charon, is something wrong?" Dorrien asked after a moment of silence between the two of them, but he didn't bother to turn.

Charon merely shook his head, moving his attention to the curious wanderer. Dorrien was about to pry again, his lips parting, but Belle walked up, already having Dorrien's Scotch in her hand – she knew what he wanted without asking. With a pout, he pulled the caps out of the pouch that rested against his chest and placed them against the table. Out of his peripheral, he could see Brock eying Charon, again. He always seemed to figure that Charon was going to snap sometimes and attempt mass murder – Dorrien remembered trying to convince him that he was his body guard, and wouldn't do anything without being told, but that only made matters worse.

The bottle was downed in seconds, the burn of the liquid barely fazing the boy. More caps were placed to the table in a loud, unnecessary slam, Belle returning and scooping the caps up with a faint smile, two more bottles slid towards the wanderer.

"One's on the house." She chuckled, resting her elbow against the table, staring curiously at the young male that watched her with a raised brow.

"Are you only doing this because last time I got so drunk that I gave you a quarter of my caps?"

She shook her head, pointing a work tired finger towards Charon, who gazed at the finger for a moment before looking away.

"Last time you were by yourself. He'll probably keep you from spending all your caps. You just look like you've had a long day." She uncharacteristically spoke, and Dorrien sipped at one of the bottles.

"Are you drunk? You're never this nice to anyone." He shook his head, deciding that he probably shouldn't bother to care. His throat argued at the next bottle of Scotch, sliding down his throat.

"Look. I could take the bottle back." But she didn't, she walked around the table instead, sitting next to Dorrien on the stool.

"I was only planning on getting three, so I guess I shouldn't push my luck until tomorrow." He smiled a little, sighing out a little breath when the expression diminished.

After a moment, Belle got up, walking away for whatever reason; Dorrien's eyes didn't follow her, he placed his fingers against the bottle of Scotch in front of him. It was slightly cold, but not enough to make a difference in the way it felt in his mouth, which was fine – nothing was special like that in the wasteland, usually. The bottle was thrown back, his head tilting back to get all of it, even the last drop that slid down his tongue, tickling his taste bubs and making them tingle. He placed the empty bottle down, standing up and grabbing on to Charon for support. Knowing this all too well, he linked an arm around Dorrien's waist to keep him steady, and walked him back up the staircase, and as easily as he could, toward his hotel room.

Half way there, Dorrien stopped walking, putting most of his weight against the ghoul, exhaling the scent of alcohol – it lingered a little in the air, but it didn't bother Charon too much – he was used to it in the bar in Underworld. He sighed, and urged Dorrien forward, reaching in his pouch for the key to the room and unlocking the door. Charon went to open the door for the other male, but the red head caught his arm, pouting almost childishly.

"I can do it," He whined, loosely gripping the door knob and weakly turning it. It took him a few tries to actually pull it open, but he stumbled out of Charon's hold and into the room, almost wanting to crawl to the bed. His legs wobbled pathetically as he walked.

"You're stubborn." Charon mumbled, closing the door behind himself and Dogmeat, walking over just to give Dorrien the key back. He had finally made it on to the bed.

"You're one to talk." His voice slurred a little at the end, but his eyes remained focused.

The bed wasn't comfortable against his back; it reminded him of what it felt like to sleep on the roads that lead to places like Paradise Falls. The only difference was, the bed wasn't exactly cold, but hard all the same, and may have had rocks hidden here or there, just to stab at his sore back. Someone was going to need to invent some other form of transportation soon, because Dorrien couldn't keep doing this. Then again, it was his own fault, because he was the one that wanted to come to Rivet City, rather than walking back to Megaton.

He turned over on to his side, facing his two companions, his eyelids a little heavy. Dogmeat found a comfortable place on the floor (perhaps more comfortable than the bed), and Charon grabbed a chair, watching the boy almost too carefully, his eyes narrowed.

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

"You took Med-X earlier today, and you just had alcohol." Was his simple reply – Dorrien was too tired to be irritated with it.

"I'm fine, and please don't mention the contract again – at least until tomorrow morning."

Charon grumbled out an annoyed sound, one that Dorrien didn't bother to try to read. He reached up and pulled his goggles down, a little imprint from where it rested on his face, but since he couldn't see it himself, it didn't bother him.

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep actually. Between Dogmeat's steady breathing, and the beat of his heart swimming slowly in his ears, he couldn't stay conscious. Charon walked over, placing a skinless hand to the boy's chest, trying to make sure there was still a heart beat. It was difficult to feel through the armor, but he settled himself back in his chair, sighing out again, but softly, as to not wake the boy. He doubted that he'd wake up anyway.

At times, he did wonder if he would act the same with him without the contract bonding them – but it didn't matter then, and thinking too hard on it was pointless as with the contract still being in existence something like that would never come up. Dogmeat was sleeping close to the bed, his tail wagging idly, patting the floor in time with how Dorrien's heart beat was going, and despite Charon's better judgment, he was soon asleep as well.


	3. Motility

There was the sound of a struggling, somewhere beyond his sleep woozy mind. It interrupted his dreams, his brief escape from the reality – the wastes. His shuffled a little against his bedding, something warm covering his arms that wasn't there before, but comforting all the same. He didn't even really bother to question how it had gotten there. There was a shout from somewhere, a familiar voice, mocking, teasing, and barking out snide remarks that for some reason would have made the teen scoff if he was alert. Dorrien hugged closer to the bed, moaning out a sound that was meant to show his displeasure in all the noise. He refused to get up though – he didn't feel that he had slept long enough. There was tranquility in his dreams, a soothing second life that calmed him, and usually readied him for the next day. He lived as a pre-war young adult, some of the vault dwellers and some of the people he had come to love in the wastes living in a little town, the harmony overwhelming, but welcomed; constricting, but all too natural to cause disdain.

It wasn't weird to see a smiling face there, and there was no need for guns, or stimpaks, or Med-X; definitely not drugs. Butch lived across the street, still clad in his Tunnel Snakes jacket despite the dream world, as if he was rebelling against it. Characteristics in personality didn't change in his dreams – he couldn't will a person to change even if he truly wanted them too. That was just how life worked. There was that shout again, and within the dream that Dorrien had returned to, someone shouted as well, cursing another, and then there was another voice, one faintly recognizable. The dream was sepia toned – he slipped under again, disregarding the noise for a little longer – everything was brown tinted and forlorn to match his actual feelings, the air was a tad cold, and he felt goosebumps cover his arms. Charon and Dogmeat lived with Dorrien – and the contract didn't exist, never did and never would.

Charon didn't talk anymore than he did in reality, but he seemed happier, despite the lack of a smile, and even though he still spoke as if he was bond to the boy for reason other than his own free will. Things didn't change. Dorrien wasn't really a lucid dreamer. There was no smooching between himself and Butch, he wasn't coddled when he demanded it, and there was still the overwhelming sense that things weren't supposed to be this happy and nice. The grass felt sharp against his fingers when ever he sat in it, making bleeding wounds in his skin. And the sky looked bleak, and despite the sun, always looked as though it could rain for days – drowning the happy town out. For some reason, that seemed normal too. Nothing lasted forever, he told himself, because nothing was meant to.

His eyes blinked open at Dogmeat's barking, groaning out an irritated sound as he sat up, rubbing his eyes and pushing the Tunnel Snakes jacket off of him with irritated fingers. Charon probably put it there, but he wouldn't bother with it for now. He would probably end up upset that he had pushed the jacket to the floor, and cuddle it until he felt that his physical apology was enough. Then again, maybe he wouldn't need the jacket.

"Dorrien, get him off of me!" He turned to look, and Charon had Butch—wait . . .

"Butch, what the hell?" The boy stood, rushing over (tripping over his feet), and wedged himself between the two men – the foreign voice was Harkness who was also trying to pry them apart, but was failing as Charon just pushed him aside with the hand that wasn't locked around Butch's throat.

"He snuck into the room." Charon spoke in his raspy voice, and Dorrien pressed his hands to the ghoul's chest in an attempt to push him away. The ghoul wasn't holding tight enough to hurt Butch, but Dorrien didn't want any bullets to fly.

"I understand, but let him go. You met him yesterday, and you know I'm friends with him." He frowned up at the ghoul, who sighed, but with a hint of uncertainty, released the human male and backed away.

Harkness stood silently for a moment, watching this, and then he placed a hand to Dorrien's shoulder. They made eye contact for a moment, and then the human male nodded, offering a weary smile to the android. Harkness nodded, offering a slither of a smile before he left the room, leaving Dorrien to clear up whatever was happening. He turned, his eyes a little narrowed toward the two males, his lower lip protruding in a pout.

"He snuck into the room." Charon repeated, trying to explain his actions, and Butch pointed an accusing finger at the ghoul in response.

"I told you I just wanted to talk to him; you didn't have to get all—"

Dorrien groaned, grabbing Butch's wrist and placing his hand back at his side. The Tunnel Snake glanced at the red-head, raising a brow before he sighed and slumped back against the wall. The wanderer knew that Charon didn't trust Butch – not only was it in his nature, but he didn't like Butch from the beginning.

"Charon, you know you could have let him in, right?" Charon hesitated for a moment, and then nodded.

"That doesn't mean he was going to," Butch murmured.

"Why are you even here?" Dorrien took a step closer to Charon, and Butch perked his head up a little, shrugging his shoulders.

"I told you I was leaving the vault."

"And you decided to come all the way to Rivet City? I'm surprised you aren't dead." Again, he really thought that Butch would have been eaten by a yao guai. Greasers are tasty – so he had heard.

"I told 'ya I wasn't gonna get killed."

Dorrien smiled a little, and then looked away, and Butch grinned a little at this response, expecting it as it was something Dorrien used to do. He was embarrassed. Charon was staring down at the Tunnel Snake though, with blatant protection when it came to the red-headed wanderer. Butch wondered where Nosebleed had found this guy, but it probably didn't matter. The greaser closed the door with his foot, walking past the two – Dorrien had walked off to the side, where a cabinet was, rummaging through. He took a seat on the bed, and then picked up the discarded Tunnel Snakes jacket, smirking to himself.

"You still have this?" Dorrien looked over, blinking slowly then he nodded.

"Yeah, I wasn't going to throw it out. It's proof that you know how to do something other that torment people." As he turned back to face the cabinet he smirked to himself.

Butch sneered, and laid back on the bed, and Dorrien glanced at Charon who was grumbling. He brought his attention to the wanderer then sighed, Dogmeat was up and alert, wagging his tail contently.

"Hey, Charon," Dorrien folded his hands behind his back, chewing on his lower lip.

"Yes?"

"Can you go with Dogmeat and get something to eat. I don't care what," he pulled some caps out of the pouch that rested against his chest and handed them to the ghoul. He took the caps, and before passing a glare to Butch, he left the room, Dogmeat following behind. The door closed with a weak slam.

"I thought he'd never leave." Butch sighed, tossing the jacket back to Dorrien who fumbled with it when it came close to his hands, but didn't drop it entirely. He caught it somewhere around his waist.

"He's nice Butch, he just doesn't like you." Dorrien walked closer to the bed, pushing Butch's legs closer to the center and sitting in the now empty spot, resting back against the snake's knees.

Butch scoffed, punching the wanderer in the arm, but then sighing when the red-head winced. He was always so weak and fragile. I was surprising that he himself wasn't dead, honestly. That was probably why he always had stimpaks so close by. Speaking of which, the only reason Butch wasn't dead was because he used up what was given to him back at the Vault. He didn't run into anything too bad, but Dorrien wasn't lying when he said that there were creatures worse that radroaches. He was just glad he didn't see any of those dragons.

Butch's lips parted a little as he thought of a rebuttal, and Dorrien sighed, rubbing his fingers through his hair as if it was a cure all for stress. His sagacity was wearing thin, and if he wasn't careful (which he obviously wasn't being as he was on a bed with Butch), he'd end up doing something reckless and impulsive that could end with a legitimate nosebleed.

"Stop starin'," Butch pulled Dorrien from his thoughts, and the wanderer blinked slowly, shaking his head, "you always do that."

"I'm not staring." Dorrien mumbled and stood up, then yawned a little, checking his Pip-boy. It was only 7:15, and that meant that Charon wasn't going to be allowed in the marketplace anyway; and Dorrien was still tired.

"Did your eyes burn when you stepped out of the vault for the first time too?" Butch asked, startling the wanderer after a moment.

"Yeah, the cones in my retinas couldn't take the light and I was temporarily blinded." He turned his head to face Butch halfway through his statement, his lips curling up a little.

"Hey, hey, don't get all smart on me, alright?" Butch turned over onto his stomach, blinking slowly, contently. The bed wasn't comfortable, but it was enough.

"My dad was a doctor – I'm supposed to know shit," Dorrien narrowed his eyes down at him, "and your mom—"

Butch sat up, grabbing Dorrien's hand in too quick of a motion, pulling him back down to eye level, threatening him with his gaze. The red-head knew just how to set him off, and he liked that. After all the teasing that he was left subject to as a child, he figured that this was the best way to get back at him, for now.

"Watch it, Nosebleed." Butch warned, pulling their faces closer, their noses nearly touching; air being exchanged in quick breaths.

"I can smell the alcohol on your breath . . . the apple doesn't fall far from the tree." He his voice came out in a little purr, Butch's bright blue eyes narrowing and Dorrien's lips stretched into a smirk.

Before he had the chance to realize and take in the situation, Dorrien was pinned to the floor, his back hurting and Butch on top of him, holding him down by his wrists. He realized after a moment of his own panting that Butch had perhaps tackled him down to the floor, out of anger of course. Luckily they hadn't hit the nearby table and ended up with a concussion. In any other situation, Dorrien would have blushed, but this was a game of sorts, and Dorrien had learned enough in the wastes to win this.

"Take it back!" He yelled, and Dorrien eyed him, his eyes wide for a moment before he turned his head away, shaking his arms in an attempt to get them free – testing his bondage.

"Why should I?" He asked when he brought his eyes back to Butch's, his own eyes challenging and sharp.

"Stop being an ass, Dorrien, I didn't come here to fight with you." Butch still sounded angry, but Dorrien did manage to find the truth in his words.

"You were an ass throughout our childhood. Why can't I be one now?" He asked, with a hint of a growl in the undertone of his voice.

Butch looked as though he was about to respond, his lips parting and his eyes averting, but then he sighed and shook his head, letting the boy go, but still straddling his waist as he sat up, brushing his fingers through his hair.

"I'm sorry, Butchie. You know that. I would have capped your ass otherwise."

Butch glanced down at him, and then crawled off him, allowing him to sit up. That was another difference that Butch managed to notice. Sure, Dorrien had those mean tendencies before, but never to this extent. Usually, it seemed that he feared what Butch would do to him if he kept going with the insults, but now, he was too confident with himself to let the idea of Butch being angry affect him. Dorrien stretched his arms above his head, and then yawned again, glancing at Butch's Pip-boy for the time. His two companions should be at least almost in the marketplace. Dorrien chuckled to himself at the thought.

"What's so funny?" Butch asked, thinking that it had something to do with him.

"The marketplace here doesn't open until eight, so Charon and Dogmeat are still waiting outside the door." He shook his head and stood up, holding out a hand for Butch to take, but he rejected it, pushing himself up on his own.

"You named your dog Dogmeat?" Butch asked, and Dorrien shook his head.

"It was on his collar when I found him, which is weird enough."

"Found him?" Butch sat down on the bed again, and Dorrien sat next to him, folding his hands in his lap.

"After I left the Vault, I went to Megaton, and eventually, I found Dogmeat in the Scrapyard. His owner was killed by raiders."

Butch was silent for a moment, but didn't comment on the dog. At least Dogmeat took kinder to him than Charon did.

"Are you staying here today?" Butch asked, and Dorrien had to think for a moment on the things that he still had to do. For one, he still needed to get the G.E.C.K, but that was most certainly going to wait. And he had to finish looking for Lucy West's brother. Basically, there was a lot he had to do, and he still promised that he'd check on Big Town.

"I doubt I'll be staying here today, but I will be coming back to sleep, maybe. It depends on what place I'm closer to when I'm done for the day."

Butch nodded in understanding, then shot a grin in the wanderer's direction. Dorrien scooted away at the expression, not liking the suddenness of it.

"Remember how I said I'd let you join my new gang?"

"Yes, Butch," Dorrien rolled his eyes, wanting to disagree with the idea again.

"Well how about I let you join my gang now, and I help you around the wastes. Ya know, since you're too much of a goody-two-shoe to do anything interesting."

Dorrien wanted to comment on how he had survived thus far without a problem and that the 'interesting' way wasn't always the most logical plan, but hey, that was how Butch's mind always worked, and Dorrien liked that about him. He shook his head, smiling faintly, finding Butch's whole idea relatively cute.

"No, I'm fine with my own little gang for now, Butch." Dorrien checked his Pip-Boy again then sighed, chewing on his lower lip anxiously.

Butch pouted, and shook his head, as if not understanding why the other male would deny his company. He figured it had to do with not believing that he'd be about to live out in the wastes, or serve as any form of protection – since Dorrien obviously needed protection. Why else would he have a ghoul bodyguard following him around? Butch didn't think that perhaps he got lonely. Dorrien didn't meet Charon for a while, actually. He was mostly just with Dogmeat. It took a lot to find Charon, and even more to get him – well not that much – he didn't kill anyone.

"Come on, Nosebleed, you know you'd rather be out there with me than—"

Dorrien raised a brow, folding his hands in his lap, rubbing his thumb against the back of his hand, humming to himself – cutting Butch off in the process as he thought. It wouldn't be too bad if he brought Butch with him, but he felt that he'd be a distraction, not only that, he had been out of the Vault for less than a day, and he wasn't sure how helpful he'd be anyhow. His eyes averted and he shook his head.

"What kind of weapon did you use to get here?" He asked and Butch shrugged.

"A 10mm that Gomez gave me and my toothpick, why?" Butch didn't understand the relevance of it, at first.

Dorrien was a sniper, and an avid lover of plasma weapons – but his prized weapon was the Victory Rifle. If asked to, he could write an entire novel on his plans to marry the rifle and find a way to produce beautiful, well aimed children by it – and name them all weird names that had nothing to do with their parents because that would, of course be strange. He was never sure where his love of plasma weapons came from though, but he didn't question it. It might have just been his love of turning things into glowing green sludge.

"Ever use anything bigger, like a rifle or shotgun?" Of course he hadn't, Dorrien just wanted to know what his response would be.

"Nah, I don't need anything like that." Butch responded with the upmost confidence, but Dorrien didn't buy it.

"I beg to differ. I'll teach you how to use both, later, and then we'll talk about whether I need your manly form of manliness to protect me in the big bad wasteland." Dorrien joked, standing and walking towards the door, and Butch got up to follow him.

"You're leaving now?" Butch seemed bothered by this, but his expression only showed it for a second or so.

"Yeah, I'm meeting my companions on the way back, then we're gonna go to a couple of different places." Dorrien shrugged, not wanting to go into detail, as there was no point. He doubted that Butch would know any place that he could possibly name.

Butch followed after him, only a foot or so away then stopped at the door when Dorrien opened it and stepped out.

"Don't come back too late, Nosebleed," he managed a smirk, and Dorrien turned back to face him, already halfway down the hall, "you still gonna let me teach you how to really use those guns."

Dorrien laughed to himself, waving a hand to the Tunnel Snake and then pausing for a moment, pondering on something that stopped Butch from walking out himself and back to the Muddy Rudder, where he had stayed for the amount of time he had been there.

"You know you can stay in there until I come back; I don't mind. Just don't break anything. There are some caps in the filing cabinet if you want to go and buy something."

Dorrien had caps stashed everywhere – almost literally. It was the same way in his Megaton house; he put caps in random places just so that if he ever needed anything, rather than searching all over for caps, he could just about find them anywhere. He honestly had a ton of caps from selling random junk that he acquired – stole – from different places – people's homes. But he was a good boy, mostly, not really. He had never gotten caught, which was a good thing.

Butch offered a little grin, and returned to the room, closing the door behind him. Honestly, he wasn't sure if he was going to look for the caps – as he had eaten before he came to the room – but it was nice that Dorrien even offered it to him. He wondered briefly if he would have done the same. It didn't matter, as honestly Butch didn't think that the roles would ever be switched. He found himself on the bed again, laying himself down on his back, arms folded behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling, his smirk content.

"Charon, we're leaving." Dorrien placed a hand to the ghoul's shoulder, perhaps startling him, but he couldn't tell.

He was holding a box of sugar bombs in his hands, which he then handed to Dorrien. Dogmeat sniffed around the young wander's legs, and then rested his nose against his calf, panting to himself. With a smile, the wanderer turned and started walking up the metal stairs that led toward the exit, his companions following without saying much about it.

It was a long walk to Big Town – Dorrien just nearly resorting to having Charon carry him the rest of the way there, which was half way. Charon refusing, mumbling that it wasn't part of his contract, but Dogmeat seemed more receptive to the idea. Dorrien just couldn't do that to his dog. It was hotter than usual, and in the tight armor, the red head sighed, pushing his bangs back to rest a top his head, allowing his forehead to feel more of the breeze. Behind his goggles, he saw a figure in the distance (though he honestly wouldn't have been surprised if it was a mirage and upon getting closer, he would see a scantily clad muscular male offering him Stimpaks and Med-X). He rolled his eyes, though continued to walk toward the being – it was rather shadowy from the distance, and he pulled his plasma rifle from its holster, just in case.

The figure then took off in a run towards them, and Dorrien stopped suddenly, aiming the gun towards the human. He heard Dogmeat's growl, and the wanderer blinked his focus clear, then at seeing who it was, he more eagerly went to grasp at the trigger.

"Wait, stop!" She yelled, holding her hands up in defense, a confused look on her blonde brow.

She was wearing the guard attire this time, he noted as he forced he gun down to his side, motioning a hand toward Dogmeat to show that he didn't need to attack, yet. Susie Mack ran the rest of the way over, stopping a couple feet from the taller male, and his eyes narrowing slightly at her. He was hoping the find the residents of the vault dead. She didn't seem to notice his discontent, and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. At this, he stiffened, though noticed she smelled cleaner. He rolled his eyes, and once she let him go, he crossed his arms, still holding the gun in his grip.

"Why aren't you dead?" He spoke with a bit of a snarl, and she seemed taken back by this. Dorrien eyed the assault rifle at her back, and then shook his head.

"I – I . . ." she stammered for a moment, "You're not the only one who can survive out here, Dorrien."

"I wasn't saying that. There are plenty of other people out here, Susie – I was just hoping that a stray bullet—"

"Why are you being such an ass, Dorrien?" Her tone rose, and Dorrien shifted his weight to one hip, attempting to distract his hand.

"Wouldn't you if you were kicked out of the place you thought of as home? It's better out here anyway. No stupid leaders, no enclosures, and no stupid whores that assume that just because we're in the wasteland together means that we have to like each other." It was the Med-X withdrawal; he was starting to realize it. Even if he didn't like her, he never would have said anything like that, well, not to her face.

"Well! Maybe I'll go find Butch then. He has to be nicer than you are." She went to walk past him, and Dorrien followed her with his eyes, shaking his gun back in forth in his hand. He raised it to eye level, closing one eye, and fingered the trigger. One headshot and she's be dead.

Charon placed his hand to the top of the gun, lowering it to the young male's torso. With a sigh, Dorrien nodded and turned to follow the other male, letting him lead so that he could get his thoughts straight – or mostly straight.

"Who was she?" Charon asked in his gravely voice, though didn't look at the younger male when he spoke to him.

"Susie Mack. She lived in the Vault with me, and I never really liked her. She teased me for a while – not as bad as Butch, of course – and I never thought that she liked me either. I'm not sure." The feeling of her hug crawled across his skin like the feeling of leeches attempting to get at his blood. He squirmed, and placed his gun back in his holster, breathing quickly, but not really realizing it.

"Why did you want to shoot her?" He prodded more, and Dorrien shrugged his lanky shoulders, sighing out a low sound.

"I'm not sure, really." – It was the drugs, he added in his head, but still didn't fully come to terms with it. Sure, withdrawal sucked, and could make him violent, but that didn't mean that he had to shoot her pretty little blonde head off.

It would be amusing to see it roll across the ground, though of course, that would only happen if she didn't turn to goo (with would also be rather funny). He refused to allow himself to take a Med-X, trying to break the habit, as it were, but going cold turkey never worked. One day, he remembered overhearing Butch telling his goons that his mother had tried it with her alcohol, and of course ended up locking herself in her room with multiple bottles of whiskey. It was different; he thought in his attempt to rationalize, the drugs actually helped him. Alcohol just made a person stupid for long periods of time. Sure, it made a person more charismatic, but Dorrien was a master with words, and could charm a woman's skirt up to her navel – even with the fact that he wasn't attracted to them.

Everyone needs an ego stroke now and then.

When Big Town finally came into view, Dorrien broke out in a pathetic attempt at a run, his limps flailing around like a collision glitch, though he was moving at a rather fast speed. Charon shook his head at this and quickened his pace, watching Dogmeat run after his Master. It was funny, but he didn't exactly last. When he finally rounded the bend and made it on to the bridge – which was still littered with dead Super Mutants – he noticed Dorrien rolling around on the ground, screaming something or another about how long it took to get there, and how he swore that it was moving farther away with however many steps he had taken. Red finally managed to get him off the ground, and she hugged his loosely.

"Dorrien, are you alright?" She asked, and Dorrien paused for a moment, as he if he didn't understand.

"I'm fine, other than it being hot." But that went without saying.

"No, your eyes are dilated." She placed a hand to the younger male's face, pulling his face a little closer to get a better look at his hazel eyes. When she went to pull his goggles up he flinched and backed away, laughing nervously.

"Aha, no I'm fine." He backed away, and she stared at him for a moment longer before sighing. "It's probably because I went to the vault recently, and my eyes are confused . . ."

Which sounded extremely uneducated, even for someone who was so good with words; he would slap himself over that later. With a nod – Dorrien was extremely surprised that she bought that – and motioned for him to follow her into the makeshift clinic. He walked after her, hoping that there would be no more questions, and luckily they weren't. She only called him to supply him with more drugs, though only two Med-X in the stash of items. While continuing to look around, the younger male was then grabbed from behind, staggering forward but managing to catch his footing, mostly by grabbing a hold of Charon.

"You came back!" The high pitched, too feminine voice rang in his ears and he groaned in displeasure, turning his head to see the smiling face of Bittercup.

His eyes rolled and he grasped her hands, on prying him from around his waist. She grabbed his hands again once he turned to face her and he sighed, not liking this ritual every time he came to Bigtown. She was convinced that they were dating; even though Dorrien expressed multiple times that he was not interested in her or women – especially her. She never seemed to listen however.

"What is it now, Bittercup?" He asked with a sigh, not liking his luck with women that day, especially blondes, but that was a different scenario.

"I found something for you yesterday." She opened his palms and handed him a few rounds of 10mm ammunition, which he did thank her for, even though he rarely used that gun. Ah well.

"Now can you leave me alon—"

"So how have you been out in the wasteland? Have you missed me? Did you bring me anything?" She spoke extremely fast, and Dorrien stared at her with the slightest hint of amusement as he handed the ammunition over to Charon to be stored.

Dogmeat began growling at Bittercup, biting at her leg. She screamed, clinging to her "boyfriend" whom was seconds away from just pushing her over to his dog, but he wasn't usually that cruel. He rolled his eyes, and shook his head at Dogmeat, calming him enough. He was as irritated as Dorrien was. Charon didn't seem to be bothered much, as far as the young wanderer could tell. God, it just felt as though he couldn't move anywhere without being distracted by something. Butch specifically halting his motility when they were in the room together, but that was extremely literally – and perhaps figuratively as well. It was surprising that he was thinking about him even then. Bittercup waved a hand in taller male's face, and he blinked behind the goggles and glanced over at her.

"What?" He asked, his voice a little raspy. He'd need water soon.

"You didn't answer my questions." She whined a bit and he rolled his eyes again, prying her from his torso.

"No, to all of them but the first one; I've been fine. I was just coming to check up on everyone. Seeing that you're all fine, I suppose I can leave for a while." And he was honestly ready to leave, but Bittercup grabbed his hand and tugged him back with a bit of surprising strength.

"What?" He snapped, and she crossed her arms over her chest, pouting out her lower lip, covered in a red chalky substance that he remembered her saying that she used as lipstick.

"Don't forget to come back . . ." She finally said after a long moment of her staring, and then she offered a smile and walked away. Dorrien rolled his eyes at this and waved a hand nonchalantly for his companions to follow.

Yawning softly, the boy was walking a little faster, mostly in an attempt to make it back to Rivet City before it became too dark to see anymore. He hated traveling when it was dark – all the creatures he hated to see came out more frequently, and the shuffling of a branch against the ground sounded too distinctly like the crawling of a radscorpion ready to dig it's stinger into his back. He shuddered out a pathetic little sound at this, speeding up into a jog, his body being fit enough from all the traveling to handle that kind of work. Walking all day did good for the legs – and when ever he was alone in Megaton, he would compliment himself on how amazing he looked without clothing on, but that wouldn't be admitted to anyone, unless they saw it for themselves.

Halfway back, he pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a short drag, his eyes were shifting two and fro anxiously as he waved his gun in his hand, his skin crawling. Charon tried to tell him that there was nothing out, and even if there was, it would have been seen because it was dusk and the sun was still out enough to illuminate the ground, but Dorrien was convinced that someone was watching them. There were little bugs running across his skin, under his flesh and racing blood vessels with speeds that made his eyes close quiet suddenly and his feet stop. He trembled, dropping the gun with a soft click a shot of plasma shooting out and landing in a glob on the ground a few feet away.

"Make it stop!" He screamed, and Charon ran to his side, gripping his shoulders and shaking him, his eyes were unfocused and locked on the ground, and the ghoul could tell that he was breaking out into a sweat.

"Dorrien, make what stop?" Charon managed to keep his voice leveled, but Dogmeat was barking extremely loudly, as if frantic.

"The bugs . . . crawling on me . . ." he panted, jittering restlessly in the other male's hands. Surprisingly the cigarette still remained between his fingers.

Charon realized that it was probably the drugs again. With a sigh, he picked up Dorrien's gun, placing it back into his holster, whilst holding the boy with one arm, then picked the boy up into his arms, cradling them for a moment before he continued walking. Dogmeat growled, knowing that the other male didn't like being carried, but the ghoul shushed the animal. Dorrien was whimpering out nonsense, his eyes closing tight as he shifted his form as close to the ghoul's armor as he could, though it was warm, and that seemed to frighten him too. Charon honestly felt sorry for him, but he couldn't do anything, and stealing his Med-X would just make the withdrawal symptoms worse.

Nothing eventful happened on the way back. Dorrien eventually fell asleep in the ghoul's arms, though he mumbled in his sleep; words about his father, on the vault, and the occasional murmurings about the drugs and the bugs scattering under his skin and to his heart, constricting it with their presence. Charon propped the smaller male up against the door once they reached Rivet City, wanting to get him inside before it became too dark, but the sun was already gone, and they weren't able to get in through the Marketplace any longer. He reached into the pouch on the red head's chest, and grabbed a Med-X, and grabbed the other male's arm. For a moment, the ghoul contemplated really doing this, as he knew that it was bad for him, but the boy would hate him for taking him to a doctor instead. Shaking his head, and being urged on by Dogmeat's growling, he injected the syringe through the boy's armor, hoping that it went into a vein, but not being completely sure. The boy squirmed irritably at the feeling, but otherwise didn't disagree, probably because he was only semi-conscious. After tossing the empty needle to the side, Charon picked the boy up again, carrying him to his hotel room, but completely forgetting about the male that was there before they had left.

"What happened to him?" There was a yell first, the other male jumping to his feet from where he was sitting on the bed. He had stayed there this entire time?

Charon was silent, not knowing how to explain, and not wanting to explain to this male anyway. He glared at him, and walked him over to the bed, laying him down and pulling the goggles down from his face and letting them hang from his neck. Butch only started to yell louder.

"Are you gonna answer me or not?" He walked up, grabbing the taller ghoul by the shoulder and spinning him around.

"He's sleeping." He succinctly stated, then walked past the fuming Tunnel Snake, who then brought his eyes to the sleeping wanderer.

His lips were parted slightly, and he was breathing extremely hard, as if he couldn't catch his breath. His hands were flexing slowly, and he seemed rather distressed. His brows knitted together while he slept, and he seemed to jerk every so often. Butch wanted to wake him, but with the ghoul there he was sure that he would never hear the end of it. He sat down on the bed, next to the sleeping boy, then glared up at the ghoul again, who was sitting on a nearby chair, just watching. The dog hand wandered over, pressing his wet nose against the boy's leg, whimpering softly.

"What happened?" He asked, trying for a calmer attitude, hoping he'd get an answer. There was nothing but the sound of Dorrien's deep breathing.


	4. Cataplexy

There was a pain somewhere, or rather, a centralized pain, surrounded by smaller, more vexing tinges of irritation. His father spoke on something once about such things – he couldn't fully remember where his mind was wandering to with that thought, he doubted that it mattered yet. He couldn't open his eyes. The wanderer knew that he was conscious; there was someone touching him, sleeping. The breathing against his skin tickled him, but he couldn't move out of the way – as if someone was on top of him. There was no presence of weight, however, surprisingly, and despite the fact that his eyes wouldn't open, he knew that if they could he wouldn't want them too. The buzzing in his core was bothering him, his breathing intensifying into little pants, his lips apparently parted, but he didn't know why. Charon had told him once, sometime after he had recruited him, that he slept with his mouth slightly open, as if he couldn't catch enough breath through his nose while he rested. It wouldn't have surprised Dorrien if that were the case, but it was odd none the less.

It was cold in the room – he could tell that the door was at least slightly open, which was bad, as anyone could wander in. He could hear Dogmeat's breathing, but couldn't pinpoint where exactly Charon was. Despite this, he didn't feel nervous. He wasn't sure how he had ended up back in the bed – he could only remember Bigtown, vaguely. At once, his body jerked up, and he gasped, sitting up and glancing around with blurry vision, wetness staining his face. The bed whined at the sudden movement, as if it didn't expect it, but Dorrien didn't bother to notice such a thing. With his free hand, he reached up and touched his cheeks, peering down at the clear liquid that rested against the pad of his finger. He didn't remember crying either.

"Fuck . . ." he muttered to himself, sounding breathless.

Carefully, he lowered himself back down to the bed, staring up at the ceiling, but then feeling that breathing again. He lifted his right arm above his face, checking his status on his pip-boy, the little man's face frowning back at him, but all of his limbs were at a hundred. His eyes wandering over to the side, a pain shooting in his head in response, but he saw a greased wave – a little disgruntled – resting not far beside him. Butch was holding his arm, his head on the bed next to him, but he was sitting on a chair. Dorrien's lips curled into a little grin, but his limps felt weak, and he didn't have the energy to really attempt do any harm to the Tunnel Snake. Actually, he didn't quite have the heart to either. Butch would never admit to staying there because he was worried; he'd be more likely to deflect it with something unrelated that would make the red head pity him, to some extent, but find charm in his personality. Charon wasn't in the room, surprisingly.

With a sigh, Dorrien pressed his free hand to Butch's face, nudging his knuckle against his cheek, urging him awake. He groaned, and swatted at him for a moment and Dorrien, rather weakly grabbed at his hand, sighing irritably.

"Come on, Butch . . ."

"Shut up—" he yawned, "Nosebleed . . ."

Dorrien sighed, his eyes narrowing as he scooted a little closer. Butch stirred a little, and honestly, the wanderer was surprised that Butch hadn't awoken when he jumped up. Thinking over that moment, the red head figured that he had just experienced sleep paralysis, again. A couple of days before the G.O.A.T. James had come into Dorrien's room after hearing muffled moans from his lab. Of course, he wasn't having sex – at that point James had realized that his son wasn't interested in females, but he found him in what appeared to be an unconscious state, sprawled on his bed, his lips parted, and his brows knitted together as the sounds intensified. Pounds of air rested against his chest, or so it seemed, and he only groaned out such sounds to call for help. His father shook him, and Dorrien whimpered at this, hearing James's voice and not being able to respond.

When his eyes finally shot open and he regained use of his body, he clung to his father, sobbing against his chest out of panic. James patted his back, whispering that it was alright. Butch walked past the door and laughed at the display, and of course, Dorrien mustered up the best glare that his could with his vision being blurry from tears. Sleep paralysis was what his father said that he experienced, then he was asked if he was getting enough sleep. Truthfully, Dorrien spent his nights reading and wandering the halls, or stalking Butch and his goons when they weren't looking. God, he had such a nice—

Either way, it had only happened twice in his life.

"Butchie, the radroaches," he whispered, inching his body closer, his lips stretching into a grin, "I don't want them getting you. You gotta get up~"

Butch blinked his eyes open, the wideness of them scaring the ginger for a moment until he sat up quickly, bumping head with the wanderer. The boy whined, letting go of Butch's arm and pouting up at him, but the snake only glared in return, though after a few moments, his visage softened.

"You're awake . . ." he mumbled, staring down at the younger male with enough intensity to make the boy shift back, swallowing down dryness.

"Yeah, I have been for a while . . ." he pushed himself up to sitting, folding his legs in front of him, though Butch faced his side, "why are you staring at me like that?"

"I'm not starin'." He looked away, seeming to regain his composure, then glanced back at the younger male, reaching up to ruffle his hair, lazily rearranging those dingy red strands. "You need a hair cut, Nosebleed."

"My hair is the least of my worries; I need to go—"

"No the hell you don't," Butch grabbed the smaller male by the shoulders, holding him still, despite the fact that he hadn't moved in the first place. "I don't even know what happened out there."

"What are you—" he was cut off again.

"Rotface brought you back and didn't tell me nothin', and I thought you were dying; breathin' all funny and shit." His hands squeezed and Dorrien bit down on his lip, his eyes averting as he tried to remember any of this.

Well, he actually was starting to remember fainting, the bugs crawling—no, but then Charon and—his mind couldn't focus, he shook his head furiously, and Butch made a frustrated little sound, like a grunt, almost.

"Don't shake your head like that," his voice sounded bit softer, and Dorrien forced himself to look back in his direction, before dropping his head in defeat.

"I—uh, I'm not dead." Was the most eloquent thing he could muster, at least until he figured everything out. "Where is Charon now?"

"He said somethin' about buyin' stuff for you. I don't know." Butch finally released the boy's shoulders, and Dorrien shuttered for a moment, wanting something to cuddle with, but Butch obviously wouldn't have been the best option. He would have gotten pushed away, easily.

He glanced to the side, Dogmeat was still resting, and of course the red head wouldn't wake him up over something so trivial. He looked down and sighed, running his fingers through his own hair, and then pouted out his lower lip.

"Fine," succinctly, the wanderer stated.

"Fine what?"

"You can give me a hair cut; just don't cut it shorter than my ears."

Butch chuckled and stood up, holding up a finger in a wait sort of command, then leaving the room, the door closing behind him. Dorrien stood up, wobbling a bit, but managed to make his way to his file cabinet. Opening the second drawer, he pulled out a bottle of purified water, tossing the cap to the side and sipping at the liquid, the burn in his throat bothered him. Sighing, he walked back over to the bed, sitting down; his dog perking his head up not too long after his bottom hit the mattress. Dogmeat panted softly at the sight of the boy then stood, moving the short distance and placing his paws against the boy's hips.

"Hi, Dogmeat . . ." Dorrien rubbed the dog's head, smiling faintly, "you know what happened don't you?"

He wasn't asking for the dog to respond, because of course he wouldn't receive the response that he wanted. He figured, however, that the Med-X had just caused him to faint, and that he did hallucinate a little. His vein did ache, however, and that caused him to assume that Charon had injected him on the way back. He was good at figuring things out, but he was also good at realizing that there was a problem. The dog whimpered, leaning up and licking the wanderer's face, panting sadly, though Dorrien did have to push him away a little just because of his breath.

"Don't worry about it," he mumbled, taking another slow sip at the water, "at least I'm still conscious."

A few moments later, Butch reentered the room, a small bag in his hand. He sat them on the table in the center of the room, and motioned for Dorrien to sit in the chair that the Tunnel Snake had been resting on while he was sleeping, after he had moved in back enough to give him room to work. Dogmeat backpedaled off of the wanderer and Dorrien stood, just to sit in the chair, his back facing Butch.

"You know, you never let me do this in the Vault." Butch mentioned, unzipping the bag – the sound bothered Dorrien, for whatever reason.

"You think I'd let you come near me with scissors, Butch?"

"I wouldn't have hurt ya'." He laughed at his own words, shifting his fingers through Dorrien's hair casually.

Dorrien's eyes closed, his lips curling into a little smile. He could hear the scissors kissing and parting behind him, the idea of a hair cut caused anxiety, but he wasn't sure why. There was a comb then, brushing against his scalp, then he felt the scissors snipping at his hair. It was like that for awhile, Dogmeat watched curiously – silently. The sound of the hair landing on the floor was audible, and it made Dorrien tremble. In an attempt to distract himself, he thought to wash his hair at some point that day, as he hadn't in a while. The comb wandered through his hair again, but caught a knot in his bangs, forcing the young wanderer's eyes open and a small wince to shutter through his form. Butch uttered a chuckle, but stopped, because he still had the scissors in his hand.

"Ow . . ." Dorrien murmured, and watched as Butch's hand took hold of the offending lock of hair, combing through it more gently now.

"Can I take you to wash your hair too? Can you walk?" Butch asked, snipping at the boy's much too long bangs – then brushing them aside with his fingers.

"I can walk—" Dogmeat disagreed, barking and standing up once the words left the boy's lips.

Dorrien could hear Butch laugh, but didn't respond to it. He only watched curiously as the hair was brushed off of his form by a towel, a hand placed on his shoulder to steady the barber. The anxiety had dissipated a while prior, but the red head hadn't felt so comfortable in a while. Honestly, if he wasn't so worried about Butch messing up in response, Dorrien could have gone back to sleep. He was helped to his feet, and Butch walked him from the room, an arm about his back to keep him steady. They walked to the bathroom on the floor – no one was walking through the hallways, surprisingly – and Butch released the shorter male when they made it to a sink. Lowering his head, the dirt, grime, and separated strands of hair were washed down the drain, only part of Dorrien's mind worried about the radiation.

When he managed to find his bed again after the walk back, Dorrien was laying down again, his head propped up by his Tunnel Snakes jacket, and his eyes half lidded. His hair wasn't too much shorter, but some of his loose curls were gone and had been demoted into waves instead. It didn't look bad, but Dorrien knew that it wouldn't be long until it grew back. Butch was in his chair again, petting Dogmeat's head. The silence was deafening.

"Are you gonna tell me what happened now?" Butch mumbled, and a bit of frustration in his voice now.

"No." Dorrien sighed, turning over onto his side, a pout playing on his lips. "At least . . . not for awhile."

It was starting to come back to him, slowly, but enough. Butch couldn't know for awhile. Sure, Butch had done some horrible things while in the Vault, but nothing like this. It was too much pressure on his shoulders, and Dorrien didn't know where else to turn. Excuses were meaningless, either way. Sitting himself up with shaky arms, he stood again, catching himself on the chair the Snake was sitting up.

"Walk me outside, please. I need air."

His veins were burning, his breathing harsh, but he managed to silence himself enough – and the air definitely wasn't helping. He rested his arms against the railing on the deck, his eyes on the water, watching the way it sloshed against the base of the boat. It was calming, to an extent, but he wished it helped more. Butch was beside him, eyes also on the water – a lit cigarette in his mouth. The smell was intoxicating enough to ease Dorrien away from the thought of injection, but now he just wanted to smoke. He would never ask Butch for a cigarette though – that was too desperate. His eyes wandered over to his Vault mate, narrowing for a moment before he emitted a weary sigh.

"What have you been doing since . . . you know." He asked, brushing a hand through his still wet hair.

"When you left it was crazy. We dealt with the radroaches enough, but the Overseer—you saw. The Tunnel Snakes partially broke up, and then everything went to hell."

"Are you saying everything went to hell because the Tunnel Snakes broke up?" Dorrien smiled at this, missing this. Butch was always so—so accidentally adorable.

"Of course I am!" Butch exclaimed, turning to Dorrien and grinning.

"Right, right," Dorrien shook his head, reaching over and flicking at the twirl of hair that rested against Butch's forehead.

"I thought you were dead." Butch's voice went down to something serious, frightening the young wanderer. "Twice."

"What are you talking about?" Dorrien knew very well what he was speaking of, but couldn't think of any other response.

"When you left the Vault, I was convinced that you had died out there – then I saw rot-face carry you in yesterday. I was worried, and I'm gettin' tired of not gettin' answers."

Dorrien was silent, his brows knitting together as his eyes lowered. Then his head perked back up with something curious, his lips parting and pulling in a faint smile. Butch must have noticed it, as he backed up a little, dropping the cigarette that had been moved to his fingers over the side of the boat.

"You were worried about me?" The wanderer asked, really only wanting to hear it again.

"No, I was worried about where my jacket was . . ." It was a quick response, and Butch had turned away again, leaving Dorrien to pout.

"Asshole."

"How am I the asshole?"

"You—you just are!" Great comeback, Dorrien, just fucking great.

The wanderer's head was hurting; his senses clouding with want again, his blood pumping so fast under his skin. It was making him irritable; usually he would just laugh off Butch's typically quirks and reactions, but he was much to bothered to let it fly this time. He glared, but was much too fired to put up any real fight – not now. Shaking his head, he turned from the other male, sighing to himself. Dorrien heard movement behind him, and when he looked back he was shoved then pushed back against the railing – hard – the metal digging into his back and an annoyed Butch much too close to his face. Dorrien was breathing in the nicotine off of his breath, but couldn't bother himself with it then. Part of him was afraid that Butch planned on pushing him off the boat – who knew how strong the railing really was.

Butch never said anything despite this, just glaring for a moment before he realized and backed off. What could he have said that didn't counter what he had said prior? Dorrien sighed and stepped closer to the Tunnel Snake, hugging him about his shoulders. Butch's back was facing him, so the wanderer wasn't too worried about being pushed off.

"I'm glad you're not dead, you know. I've lost someone already – I'd hate you forever if you died." Dorrien's eyes lowered, feeling Butch stiffen in his arms.

"Who?" Butch asked, quietly.

"My dad was killed in front of me by the Enclave. It was not too long before I came back to the Vault. Everything happened so fast, Butch . . . I never got a chance to—" He was quite then, letting go of Butch and backing up and biting down on his lip.

Don't cry, please. He begged himself inwardly, a tremble flowing through him as his eyes began to water, his teeth digging indentions into his lower lip. Arms folded around him, and his head fell to rest on a shoulder. When the tears started, they wouldn't stop. He sobbed for a while, until they were sitting, having been forced down to the floor when Dorrien's legs gave out on him. Butch was quiet; patting his hand over the red head's back, not knowing what to say to help him, and not knowing if he should talk if he had the option. He was never much of an emotional person in this sense – the guys in the vault ever had much need for such a thing – but Dorrien had always been different. Butch always used to tease him for his feminine side – the blunt and unabashed-ness of it. It just added in to his stereotype. The crying simmered down after a while, but Dorrien didn't move, he just rested against the snake, breathing evenly.

"Hey, Nosebleed," Butch spoke soft, with being so close to his ear.

"Yeah?" Dorrien's voice was shaky, he was worried about looking at Butch – he had shown too much fragility.

"You know, since that ghoul couldn't protect you, maybe you need a better body guard."

Dorrien chuckled, staring idly at the ground behind Butch, feeling his heartbeat against his chest. It was calming – and the withdrawal that had been looming over him during his episode had subsided.

"Asshole." Dorrien mumbled, but smiled this time.

"What now?" Butch didn't understand, but didn't bother to get too angry over it.

"We'll be heading out tomorrow; you might want to get rest when we get back inside . . . but please, lets stay out here for a while longer."


	5. Relapse

Honestly, Dorrien was only somewhat certain that this wasn't going to end in an untimely death, for the both of them. Dogmeat wasn't stupid, and though loyal, the young wanderer was sure that his companion would flee if things became too strenuous because Butch didn't know what he was doing. Shame too, Dorrien had hired Charon to assure himself that he wouldn't have to focus while they were traveling; things felt so backwards, that he wished that he could bring the ghoul along too, but, due to the hostilities between him and Butch, he knew something of that sort wouldn't end well. Lips pressed into a thin line, arms tight around a cold body, metal at his cheek and a hand at his back, patting there for a few moments before it came to a rest.

"I should come with you." Charon spoke, voice even, and the red head glanced up at him, only looking away when he heard a huff of disapproval from Butch behind him.

"I'm sorry." He couldn't quite think to say anything else.

Charon was right, clearly, but Dorrien didn't want to have to worry about an argument where ever they were, and not only that, he was sure that Butch would feel effeminate, or something else completely ridiculous. Sighing out a low sound, he pulled back from the ghoul, fingers briefly remaining at his sides before he decided to cross his arms over his chest. Charon averted his eyes, shaking his head, taking a few steps back from the other male. Dorrien then followed his eyes to Butch, and though the Tunnel Snake wasn't exactly pleased about the whole situation, he did look at least the slightest bit sympathetic.

"Charon, you know, you can go back to Underworld – I'll come back and visit you, promise."

For a long moment, the ghoul just stared at him, before sitting himself down on the chair behind him, and crossing his arms over his chest. Though he voiced otherwise, Charon knew that making a trip to Underworld was less likely to happen randomly.

"I'll stay here until you return for me."

Dorrien sighed, not wanting to argue. He walked away, picking up the duffle bag on his bed that was usually carried by Charon, and he handed it over to Butch who stared at it for a long moment before slipping it over his shoulder. Giving another quick glance in Charon's direction, Dorrien and his little band of misfits left the room, Charon murmuring a gruff sound under his breath. He'd never fully admit to being worried – he couldn't bring himself too. But he knew that if Butch allowed Dorrien to come back maimed there would be serious problems. Part of him was tempted to get up and follow after them anyway, but Dorrien wasn't stupid; it would only take a couple of stops before he realized that they were being followed. The few times that they had been snuck up on by raiders and thieves were because Dorrien was distracted by something else, and even then, he noticed that something was off before anything actually hurt them.

"I'm glad you kicked that ghoul to the curb." Butch said suddenly, arms behind his head as he walked.

Dorrien passed him a glance, then a sigh, jabbing at his ribs with his elbow, wondering for a moment if this was really a good idea. He could always turn back around and get Charon, truthfully; he really did want to give Butch a chance though. It might be his feelings creeping up again, but he if learned, so could the Tunnel Snake. Hazel eyes dropped for a moment to make sure that he did, in fact, have his gun holstered. Wouldn't have been too surprising if he didn't.

"I didn't—nevermind," his eyes rolled, not bothering to dwell, "Butch there are some rules for when you're out here with me."

Butch rose a brow, arms falling to his sides. Rules? Last time Butch checked, he was the leader of their gang; it seemed more fitting for him to be making the rules. Then again, Dorrien had been out there longer. The snake would consider this taking advice, rather than actually following someone else's directions. Plus, Dorrien looked so sure of himself – couldn't rip that away from him now. He noticed how he was thinking after a moment and inwardly slapped himself. In the past, it wasn't fully true that he didn't care about the red head's feelings, it was just that he had more things to worry about. He had a reputation to uphold and Dorrien was one of the people he had to step on to get where he wanted to be. No matter how harsh that sounded, for the situation, that was the story Butch was sticking to.

"Like what?"

"If you see someone suspicious or dangerous, wait for me or Dogmeat to go after them first." Dorrien had stopped them, a few ways away from Rivet City, pulling the bag off Butch's back and starting to look through it.

"So, I'm behind a dog now?"

"Yes." Dorrien sounded amused, at least. "If we're travelling, we stop for food sparingly. I don't carry much with me at a time – that's why I try to stop in towns for the night."

Butch cleared his throat, arms crossing over his chest.

"So if I'm hungry, I have to wait until—"

"Yes." Dorrien looked up, smile wry.

"And I'm using your money for food, right?" It only seemed fair.

"Kind of. Any caps I earn will be shared because most likely, you'll be helping me. Charon never needed much, so it wasn't a problem." He pulled a few boxes of ammo from the bag before taking a seat on the ground, a curl of his finger motioning for Butch to sit beside him.

Off his back, he pulled one of the two rifles he had strapped there, handing it over to a too eager looking Tunnel Snake. He reached for the ammo too, but Dorrien quickly slapped his hand away, a wag of his finger making him feel like a mother rather than a friend (of sorts).

"We're not done going over rules, Butch. Wait a second." He lowered his eyes, feeling fur come and brush again his neck, arm coming to wrap around a fluffy torso.

"Come on, Nosebleed, it ain't that difficult. I know what I'm doin' out here." He leaned closer for a moment, brow quirked, fingers playing on the gun in hands.

"I don't want either of us to die, but, you know what, fine. You see that, over there?" Dorrien rose a thin, gloved finger, pointing to a bloatfly, hovering a few yards away, "I want you to shoot it down from here. Once you hit it, I'll stop going over what you need to know."

He handed over the ammo, and watched as Butch, lower lip bitten, tried to find out how to reload. Licking his lips, Dorrien reached over, fingers directing, and pulling Butch's into position without wanting to seem like he was taking lead. Showing was better than telling, he knew from experience, and he'd blush about holding Butch's hand later. Once that was finished, Butch awkwardly picked the gun up, trying to steady himself but surprisingly holding the gun (sort of) properly.

He pulled the trigger, and missed the fly by a long shot – Dorrien hoped that the bullet wouldn't go off and hit something that they should be concerned about. Dorrien did something similar the first time he held a rifle; he taught himself, but ended up shooting an innocent when he was aiming for the super mutant that held them captive. Whoops. The bloatfly didn't even turn to see where the bullet had come from – it merely only shifted to the side as if nothing had happened. Dorrien stifled a giggle, shaking his head. Butch glanced over, sneering, and Dorrien held his hands up in defense.

"You're not allowed to leave my side without telling me where you're going. It's not safe for us to separate" –especially with you being new out here, he wanted to add.

Dorrien and Charon actually separated constantly, but only to an extent. The young wanderer would scout ahead, and Charon would be yards behind him, keeping a distance until they knew it was safe. Roles were switched whenever Dorrien wanted to snipe something, and usually Charon wasn't half-way to their target before a head was blown off and an all too giddy red-head was celebrating from his position. Trying something like that with Butch seemed pointless, either way. Another shot was taken, and of course, another miss, a frustrated sound forming in his throat. Smiling, Dorrien let Dogmeat go and crawled closer to him on his hands and knees, sitting close to trying to help him spot the bloatfly.

"Both of your eyes are open, and you're aiming too far to the right." Reaching over, he shifted the greaser in the right direction, and without being able to help himself, he gently pressed one of his eyes closed with his finger.

Butch didn't seem bothered by the contact actually, which was good enough for him. When the bloatfly stopped moving, the next shot was taken, and it went right through the creature's torso. Dorrien, with a wide smile watched as it fell lifelessly to the ground, and clapped his hands together.

"Fantastic." He turned his eyes back to his companion and helped him fasten the gun to his back. "You'll be shooting at bigger stuff than that, so missing is less likely. I just want you to know how to shoot things from a distance."

Butch smirked, obviously proud of himself, but then he noticed something. Taking a hold of Dorrien's shoulder, he turned him slightly, pressing his fingers to the gun on his back. His brows creased, a hum of confusion in his throat.

"Why is your gun different from mine?"

"Because it's a different gun. It's a sniper rifle, better distance and such. Don't worry, Butch. We're going to be doing very different things in a fire fight. While we're travelling, we're going to completely replace that 10mm - I hardly ever use mine unless it's an emergency. When we head back to Megaton, I'll grab you something from my house."

Once they were back to their feet, the bag was placed back onto his taller follower's back and they began walking again, quickened steps as if Dorrien was in a rush. His breathing was picking up, and he could feel the incoming desire for his Med-X. He couldn't just shoot up front of Butch, especially with no real purpose. If they got into a fight, maybe, but the young wanderer didn't want to go looking for trouble just so that he could delay withdrawal – Butch could get hurt and he'd never forgive himself. His thoughts were like that for a while, not even realizing how far they had walked before—

"Do you even know where you're goin'?"

Dorrien stopped in his tracks for a second or two, looking back at Butch, a trail of sweat running down his cheek and sliding past his collar. All too vividly he could remember a similar occurrence, back in the vault when they were younger:

He was sitting in his room, rereading one of the magazines his father had found for him, when his door was forced open, and a quivering mess of a teenager slid inside and slammed the door behind him, locking it with shaky fingers. Dorrien sat up quickly, startled, eyes wide as Butch pressed a finger too his own lips, sweat running down his face and chest rising and falling from adrenaline.

"What's going on?" He remembered asking.

"Shut up, Nosebleed." And he did as told.

There was a voice – Gomez, probably, couldn't remember now – that was calling after Butch, yelling his name so loudly that Dorrien was convinced that the male before him had murdered someone. When the yelling died down, Butch slumped down to the floor, eying the younger kid with a grin.

"You can leave now." Dorrien spoke, not sounding too sure of himself, but that was with everything.

"Yeah, I'll get out, just give me a second."

He wasn't sure what brought back such a memory – he was fifteen at the time, he was sure, so it wasn't that there was anything significant about that moment between them. Butch was being the troublemaker that he usually was, and Dorrien was his go to when he needed someone that would be too afraid to rat him out. Things probably hadn't changed either. Shame too, Dorrien didn't know if that was a good thing or not. Starting to walk again, he brought his eyes straight, not knowing how to answer the other male's question. He did forget where they were going, and considering that he had been walking mindlessly for quite a bit, he wasn't fully sure where they had found themselves. Honestly, he was surprised they hadn't run into anything deadly.

"Yeah, I know where we're going." He looked up at the sky after speaking, wondering if they would even make it by night fall.

"Yeah, and where's that?"

"Little Lamplight. I have to go there for information, but we might not make it there before it's dark. We'll have to stop for the night somewhere. Don't worry, I'll give you food then."

Butch nodded, though he wasn't too keen on walking this entire time. He looked around, biting his lower lip.

"Where are we now?"

"We're heading towards something called the Super Duper Mart, so we're near Megaton. We're not gonna stop there though. Too far from where we're supposed to be."

"We've been walking for so long, Nosebleed."

Again the red-head stopped, and he sighed, shaking his head. He motioned for the other male to walk a little more, hand grasping at his wrist like he was leading a pet. Butch didn't yank his arm away like he expected. He was still sweating, panting a little – /poor/ baby was red in the face too. Dorrien led the way back to the grocery store. He could hear the greaser groaning listlessly behind him, and he looked back with a frown. He stopped in what used to be the parking lot, taking a seat behind one of the old ruined cars that sat there. Butch sat beside him, and watched as the bag was taken off of his back and a bottle of water was pulled out. Dorrien only carried two with him at a time – there wasn't that much room in the duffle bag, and though Charon never complained about the weight, Butch clearly wasn't as used to this sort of travelling. The bottle was chugged a bit too quickly, and Butch laid down on his back, closing his eyes.

"We'll rest here for a bit, don't worry. I cleared out the grocery store a while ago, so if you need to get out of the sun, let me know."

Shame he looted the whole place over his time out of the vault, because he would definitely grab some food while they were there. There might be some stuff that he missed, but he doubted it. Pulling his glove off with his teeth he reached over, wiping the sweat from the snake's brow, fixing his wilted hair. A pair of eyes opened in response to the contact, and a hand quickly grabbed at the one touching his skin.

"Why are you so touchy?" Butch asked, sounding tired, but the irritation in his voice was still there.

"You've never really done this before. Don't want you to burn out, you know? I mean, I don't hate you." He pouted, but Butch didn't let his hand go, actually, he lowered it back down to his forehead, closing his eyes again.

"I'm not gonna burn out." Butch inhaled deeply. "And I know you don't hate me."

Butch's head was hot against his hand – he wasn't even sure how he had made it from the vault to Rivet City without getting sick. Frowning, he turned to Dogmeat, who was patiently laying down next to him, waiting to move again. He clicked his tongue to get his attention, then craned his head in the direction of the store. As he turned his attention back to Butch as his canine companion ran towards the store, nudging his nose into the slightly cracked door and wiggling inside.

"You're overheating, Butch, I don't want—"

"Shh," Butch opened his eyes again, "you're over reacting. Jeez, I lay down and you think I'm dyin'."

Though there was a laugh in his voice that Dorrien found endearing. There was a shared smile, and the younger male only turned away when her Dogmeat barking for him. He helped Butch to his feet, picking the bag up himself and leading him into the store. In wasn't much cooler inside – air conditioning clearly wasn't something they could expect anymore, but the sun wasn't in their faces, and that made it feel a lot better. Dogmeat rejoined them at the door and they lead Butch to one of the bed rolls that had been left by the raiders that occupied the place beforehand.

"You alright, Butchie?" Dorrien asked, taking a seat next to him, looking around for any water that could be left.

"Did this happen to you when you first started travelling?"

Though it didn't answer his question, Dorrien nodded, fighting the urge to lay down next to the snake and stroke his face, or something else unnecessary.

"Yeah, I got so sick . . . and I was alone. Curled up inside of a burnt out bus until the sun went down, and I slept there. I was lost, I think, and the next day I wandered back to Megaton as fast as I could to get more water and to ask the doctor for advice. He laughed in my face."

Dorrien figured it was not only because of the strain of walking so much, but because of breathing in new air. They weren't used to all this radiation, so nausea was only to be expected. But, this was how one would learn – Dorrien only wished he would have thought of this before bringing Butch out.

"That blows. How long until I stop feelin' like shit?" His voice was low, sleepy, and Dorrien started patting around on his little pockets, but then at realizing what he was actually looking for, he stood.

"Soon, hopefully."

"Where are you goin'?" Butch turned his head, eyes following him, but Dorrien waved his had to try to calm him.

Hopping over one of the counters, he slipped back into the room where he had found some of the medical supplies, ripping boxes and crates off of their stands as he looked to see if there was anything he had missed. He couldn't just give him stimpaks, given that he wasn't injured. Feeling defeated, he turned and, given his lack of attention, walked right into another shelf, hitting his head but knocking one of the crates off the top shelf. It tumbled to the floor and as he rubbed his forehead, he leaned down, pushing aside a burned book and an empty milk bottle, to find one unused bag of Rad-Away, with the needle still on the end of the tube. He hurried himself back to his companion, assuming that he would have fallen asleep, but finding him instead petting the dog who had curled up again his side.

"Ba—Butch, I need your arm," He shook his head at his near slip grabbing an arm before the Tunnel Snake could respond.

"Why, what are you gonna do?" He turned to face him, watching as he pushed his sleeve back, rolling it up until he was at his veins.

"Try to make you feel better. This might pinch; don't hit me, yeah?" He gently pressed the needle into his arm, right over where he saw a vein.

He was no doctor, despite his father's occupation, he didn't know everything. Butch winced, but settled soon after, watching as a still gloveless hand milked the contents of the bag into his arm. He never saw Dorrien put it back on, and he was hoping that he didn't leave it outside.

"Thanks, you know?" Butch said with a sigh, eyes turning to the ceiling.

The same hand came to rest on his forehead again, feeling the heat starting to decrease.

"You don't have to thank me, Butch."

"Yeah, I do. If I was in your shoes, I wouldn't be helpin' me right now." For a second, he sounded angry, and the startled the younger male for a second.

"What are you talking about? I think your brain is fried, just calm down."

"Dorrien, with how I used to treat you, I'm surprised you're even talkin' to me right now. I made your life hell."

Dorrien's lips quirked, frowning for a moment before he averted his eyes. It was true, he couldn't deny it, so he settled for saying nothing at all instead. But, he still felt something for Butch, despite himself, and he wasn't sure of that changing any time soon. Honestly, he blamed it on there being only a small amount of guys his age being around anyway – had he been on the outside . . . well, he probably still would have liked Butch.

"Butch, we were kids—"

"Stop makin' excuses for me." He rose his voice a tad, eyes a little lidded, but he was awake enough. "I shouldn't have done all that shit to you. I deserve whatever shit's happenin' to me, but you try to fix me anyway."

"How are you feeling?" Dorrien jumped in, trying to shut him up; he could feel his heart constricting in his chest, the blush staining his cheeks apparent, but he figured that Butch was too delirious to see it.

"Tired, but better." He said, even toned, eyes closing.

Dorrien sighed, and Butch was silent, breathing going even. It was only a matter of moments before he was asleep. Leaning closer, he pressed his lips to Butch's forehead, a chaste gesture that he was almost certain he couldn't feel in his sleepy haze. Dogmeat nestled closer to the sleeping form, and Dorrien stood, turning and walking back outside. He found his glove next to the car where he had left it, eyes to the sky he leaned his back against the car, crossing one leg over the other.

"Damn it, Butch." He mumbled, kicking a rock away from himself, heart pounding in his chest.

See, he knew this would happen too. He'd take Butch with him and then get distracted by his feelings or something else stupid. Sighing, he stood up straight and walked himself back to the mart, finding his companions still where he left them. The glove was slid back onto his hand, and he took a seat next to Butch, watching the way his chest expanded when he breathed. Reaching back into his bag, he pulled out a Med-X, preparing to inject himself, but Butch shifted closer, head resting against his lap before he settled.

"You would . . ." He whispered, hands dropping and a shake of his head given.

With a weary breath exhaled, he returned the Med-X to the bag and set it aside, taking the time to check Butch's stats on his pip-boy. The Rad-Away bag was empty, and the boy on his screen was smiling again, everything seeming to be perfect. He didn't want to pry too much what he had in his pip-boy, he sat his arm back down, brushing his fingers over the back of his hand in the process. The needle and tube was then pulled from the sleeping snake's arm, sleeve even rolled back down while Dorrien was in a nice mood. Not wanting to dwell on his feelings anymore, he laid down too, curling as much as he could with Butch's head resting against his thighs. His eyes closed, a short whimper of a sound leaving his lips before he allowed himself to doze off as well.

Butch shifted listlessly for a moment before he woke back up, an hour or so after he had fallen asleep in the first place, head against a warm surface that he couldn't remember feeling in the first place. Yawning, he sat up, looking around them then down to see what he was laying on. Dogmeat was awake beside him, tail wagging slowly and eyes on him, and Dorrien was sleeping. His head was on his legs, apparently, and though confused, he wasn't too surprised. He remembered what occurred before his nap, and felt better, of course, but wasn't sure if he should wake the younger male so that they could keep walking. They did have a long way to go, and Butch did remember him talking about them sleeping outside. Sighing, he checked the time on his pip-boy, seeing that it was getting late, and he gently shook the smaller male with his hand.

"Hey, Nosebleed, wake up." Butch leaned in close, nudging his cheek with his hand.

Hazel eyes blinked open, a soft sound of displease before the small form sat up and stretched out, yawning.

"Hey, how long were we out?" He sounded sleepy still, but stood up anyway, hoisting the bag back on his shoulders.

"I think an hour or two." Butch stood up behind him, Dogmeat following behind.

Dorrien wasn't too happy with the answer apparently, a frown pulling his lips before he turned and headed towards the door, peaking out and seeing that it was dark. There was the smallest bit of light that he could see over the top of the building – the sun must have still been setting behind one of the hills. He bit his lip, turning to give Butch a look over, glove pulled off again and hand to his head.

"Do you think you're all right? I want to see how far we can get before we're out of light."

Butch nodded, even going as far as taking the bag back from Dorrien and placing it back onto his back, walking out of the store and hoping that his companion would get the hint and go on with his plans. With a small smile, the red-head came behind him, taking lead again and heading past the store, pace quick again, but he was looking around more. It did seem a lot more unsafe to travel at night; anything could sneak up behind someone, and once you're caught off guard, if you weren't prepared, you were done.

"When did you fall asleep?" Butch asked, not liking how quiet their trip was.

"Uh, not too long after you did." He glanced over his shoulder at him for a moment, before turning his attention back to where they were going.

They passed Vault 101, Butch stopping for a moment before he shook his head and laughed. Dorrien instead ignored it, knowing that dwelling on that place would leave him needing another fix, and though he hadn't allowed himself to take any Med-X in the past twenty-four hours, he didn't want to do anything that Butch would notice. Maybe the next time they stopped in a town he would do it; Butch wouldn't have been paying too much attention there, he was sure.

"Raiders ahead." Dorrien stopped, debating on trying to go around them, but he was sure that if they tried that there would be something more dangerous around the bend.

Plus, he was sure that Butch could handle a few raiders, they weren't that hard, and from the distance, Dorrien couldn't see any missile launchers. Pulling his laser rifle from its holster, he turned to Butch and placed his free hand to his shoulder.

"Keep a distance alright, and try not to shoot me. Pick them off while I get close and if you need any help call me, alright. I only see five of them, so we should be fine."

Butch nodded, the grin on his lips just making the wanderer more nervous. Not wanting to worry too much, he ran ahead, a quick shot at the leg of the first raider he past just to give Butch something to shoot at. Crippling a leg was easy; from his time, he had learned just where to shoot to make someone's limps completely useless in battle, and that kept him alive many, many times. Gun held straight, he shot once, then twice, head taken right off the shoulders of a scanty clad female with a pistol, not even allowing her the chance to fire back. He smiled to himself, turning his attention to the male that was beside her, stepping closer and going to do the same to him, but a bullet whizzed past his face and caught him right in the neck, and the raider fell gracelessly on top of the female before him. Dorrien turned, seeing a very proud Butch, cheering to himself, the raider he had left for him bleeding out from the leg.

"Good job," Dorrien praised, turning back to the last raider who was running off.

Dogmeat chased the man down, tearing into his neck no sooner than he had tackled him to the ground. Butch caught up behind Dorrien and strapped his gun back to his back, breathing quick and pupils dilated.

"I could have taken 'em by myself," he teased, and Dorrien smiled, placing his own gun back where it belonged.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Butch."

Dogmeat rejoined them as they started walking again, and it wasn't long before Dorrien decided to stop, finding a nice empty spot between a good amount of trees. They sat, Butch's eyes at the sky for a moment before returning the male beside him.

"It looks nice out here at night." Voice low, he laid back down, arms under his head.

"Yeah, that's the one good thing about being out here at night. So many stars." He scooted back to rest against a tree, crossing one leg over the other.

The dog laid down, head on the wanderer's leg. A gloved hand easily found his head and brushed there until the canine fell asleep.

"I'm not tired, you know."

"Good, if Dogmeat is sleeping, we can't. Someone has to keep watch. I'll stay up with you though, don't worry."

Butch turned his head, staring at the other male for a long moment, before he smirked, chucking under his breath.

"You're really different." Butch said after a moment, turning over onto his side to face him.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, you're just—" he shook his head, not knowing the right words, and not feeling like thinking too hard.

"Is that a compliment?" Fingers nervously ran through red hair, not sure where the other male was going with this.

"Yeah, I guess. I don't see anything bad about you now."

"You're silly."

Butch sat up a little, inching himself closer to Dorrien's side.

"No, I'm not. I couldn't see you doing any of this stuff in the vault."

For a long moment, Dorrien was quiet, looking Butch over before he smiled.

"Tell me about what you think changed."


End file.
